In 1989, Bonnie Raitt wasn't just an unlikely candidate to drop a platinum-selling, Grammy-winning album -- she wasn't a candidate, period.

Pete Chianca

By 1989, Bonnie Raitt had fallen off the pop culture radar, if she was ever really on it -- her 1970s output was beloved by music critics but never really embraced by the music-buying public, and by the ’80s she’d been dropped by Warner Brothers and was struggling with drug and alcohol problems. In short, she wasn’t just an unlikely candidate to drop a platinum-selling, Grammy-winning album -- she wasn’t a candidate, period.

That’s what made the stunning success of “Nick of Time” such a great story, the rare music-industry happy ending. But it was also a beginning for Raitt, who was able to parlay her 1990 Album of the Year into a whole string of well regarded and financially successful releases. “The success of ‘Nick of Time’ brought me a level of freedom, and the opportunities to do everything I had wanted to do,” she says today.

Capitol Records/UMe has issued a vinyl re-release of “Nick of Time” to commemorate its 25th anniversary, which is as good a reason as any to revisit the album -- and I’m happy to report it holds up beautifully.

Awash in gravelly blues and poignant ballads, it’s smooth without being slick, and Raitt's slide guitar work is, frankly, mesmerizing. A seasoned professional, and by that time clean and sober, she sounds relaxed and confident on “Nick of Time” -- Raitt doesn’t seem to be trying too hard to win us over, which of course makes her all the more lovable.

Raitt has never been known for her original compositions, but the two that anchor this set are easily among its best. In particular, the opening title track is one of the most thoughtful meditations on aging ever set to music. And for those of us whose 40s were still a few decades off back in 1989, its bittersweet take on a life well-lived packs even more of a wallop today -- it feels like a heavy sigh of relief.

Raitt’s other original, “The Road’s My Middle Name,” closes the album with a rollicking, worn-in vibe that feels well-earned. “Don't you think I know it's hard, honey, to squeeze sugar from the phone,” she asks the lover she’s left behind to take her music on the road, but it’s not enough to make her come back -- luckily for us.

In between those two tracks are an impressive array of blues rock efforts, several of which today feel like standards. The buoyant riff Raitt puts on John Hiatt’s “Thing Called Love” only amplifies the song’s infectious appeal, and on Bonnie Hayes’ winking “Love Letter,” Raitt’s crisp drawl generates the steam heat of as-yet-unrequited love (“and you haven’t even kissed me yet”).

Another song that has only picked up power in the quarter-century since the album’s release is "I Ain't Gonna Let You Break My Heart Again,” the striking ballad by David and Julie Lasley. Raitt’s vocal evokes a resignation and longing that’s heartbreaking and, for most of us, still utterly familiar. But there’s not a loser in the bunch, which also includes the likes of the sadly beautiful “Have a Heart” and “Too Soon To Tell” and the guttural blues of “I Will Not Be Denied.”

Twenty-five years later, the remastered vinyl edition is the perfect way to relive all these songs -- though it doesn't include any bonus tracks, rarely has an artist been better suited for vinyl’s warm tones, and the eventual pops and hisses should only add to their timeless charm. And if you somehow missed it the first time around, there’s no (nick of) time like the present to discover Raitt’s stunning comeback.